Pandora and her Box
by MercuryPilgrim
Summary: Lord Voldemort wished for power. So he summoned something he was sure would grant him it. Unfortunately for him, Espada don't like sharing. Dark, rating for slight gore and some strong language.


_Disclaimer: _I do not own Bleach or any of its affiliates. Anything that you recognise is property of its respective owners. Any relations to persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

_Base/s:_ Bleach and Harry Potter

_Title:_ Pandora and her Box

_Summary: _Lord Voldemort wished for power. So he summoned something he was sure would grant him it. Unfortunately, the Espada don't like sharing.

_Music used for inspiration:_ None.

* * *

"_At our first salutation, he drank damnation to me and my men, whom he stil'd like cowardly puppies, saying, He would neither give nor take quarter"_ _- Capt. Maynard's account of meeting Blackbeard._

Harry watched as Voldemort as he entered the large room, his footsteps ringing of the grey walls. His chest shook so he clenched his jaw and tried not to feel.

The circle of black hooded figures, all wearing white bone masks and hoods stood silently and as unmoving as stone. Their heads, shrouded by their hoods eerily followed their leader.

Voldemort stopped before the boy. He bent, and placed a deceptively gentle hand under his chin, forcing him to look up and into the snake like face. He felt the boys pulse speed up and his form begin to shake. He smiled.

Harry saw the smile and spat out a question,

"What the hell do you want from me?" he asked, his voice loud and he winced as he heard himself.

Voldemort removed his hand and straightened, the smile still affixed on his face.

"Now my young lion, that would be telling now wouldn't it?" he answered, his voice pleasant and soft.

Harry scowled and made a noise in the back of his throat.

"I won't give you anything!" he shouted, feeling the heat of anger settle in the pit of his stomach and warming his limbs.

Voldemort's smile widened.

"How arrogant," he remarked airily, "thinking I need _anything_ from you. You are here to provide a service, nothing more. Now, I require silence."

Harry was about to protest, but the Dark Lord saw it and lazily flicked his wand, rendering the boy dumb. The scowl deepened.

As Harry wriggled in his bindings, Voldemort crossed to the only piece of furniture in the room. A sturdy table, baring and an assortment of mixtures and items that, if one had not believed in magic, would have been thought odd.

Harry recognised only three things on the table. There was a long, brilliantly scarlet feather tipped with gold that he knew was from a phoenix. The other was a large fang coated with a viscous amber liquid, a Basilisk tooth. Last was a simple bowl, filled with sticks of chalk. Harry shivered, the last seemed to scare him the most. He didn't know why.

Voldemort crossed to the centre of the space and clicked his long fingers. A short, overweight figure Harry recognised as Peter Pettigrew hurriedly brought the chalk to his master. Harry sneered, the man was pathetic.

Voldemort, to Harrys great surprise, didn't delegate the task of drawing with the chalk to one of his minions. He did it himself, with a precision and carefulness Harry had never before seen him display.

It took a long time to draw whatever it was on the floor. Harrys arms ached from where they were restrained behind his back and the shaking in his chest had settled slightly. It was oddly warm in the room, with all the stone, Harry would have expected it to be below freezing.

Having finished, Voldemort straightened and Harry caught a glimpse of the design drawn on the floor. Interested despite himself, he scrutinised it. He recognised it as five pointed star, a pentacle he recalled Hermione mentioning once. It wasn't simple, offshoots and swirling runic characters made for a beautiful, if dangerous image.

Voldemort clicked his fingers again and item after item was brought to him, each placed with utmost care at specific points on the design.

Voldemort turned to him, Harry stilled. The Dark Lord picked him up easily, contrary to his thin frame. He was half carried, half dragged to the table and dropped him near one of the legs. Voldemort snatched his arm after vanishing the bindings and to Harry's horror, produced a large silver athame from his robes. The boy wriggled and struggled but didn't cry out when his arm was cut, bright blood splashing into a silver bowl the Dark lord held out. The blood flow slowed to a steady drip and Voldemort let go of Harrys arm, the boy cradled it to his chest and scrambled backwards. Voldemort paid him no mind.

Harry fought to keep his breathing steady as he clutched his arm. He had only a vague idea of what was going on, and that was only from books out of the restricted section of the Hogwarts library. Voldemort was performing a ritual, a Summoning ritual to be precise. The small circle where the Dark lord stood was directly opposite the larger, menacing looking pentacle. Harry shuddered, he didn't know what kind of creature Voldemort was going to summon, and he had no wish to ever find out.

Voldemort stood in the circle, his Death eaters a safe distance away.

He took out his wand and placed it, on the floor, facing the pentacle. He took the silver bowl of Harry's blood and lifted it high. He began to tip it. The world seemed to hold its breath. Harry felt strangely light and yet the lump in his throat was like lead. Suspense twisted the air and anticipation thickened it.

He paused, just as the liquid was about to fall and spoke one word, loud and clear. The syllables rolled off the Dark Lords tongue and sounded like a velvet sheathed knife.

"_Aggredior."_

The bowl tipped and the blood fell, it hit the stone and the chalk lines and splashed into the grooves between the slabs. The second the blood hit the chalk, Harry felt his chest tighten and he struggled to breathe. The sheer volume of magic in the air weighed down on him and he struggled to remain on his knees. Every nerve in his body was on fire, the pain of his arm was increased ten-fold, the feeling of the slabs on his flesh was bright in his mind and he could hear a low hum coming from all around him, and getting louder. Wind blew through the room and sent the robes of the stoic Death Eaters fluttering around their bodies. Their hoods rippled but did not fall and Harry smelt the faint scent of hot stone as he felt the dry heat run its fingers through his hair.

The pentacle glowed, the chalk lines indistinguishable from the white light reforming the pattern on the floor. The phoenix feather burst into flames and the basilisk tooth turned to ash, the ingredients reacted with one another, creating a hazy fog of smoke and steam that got thicker and thicker until the pentacle was obscured.

Voldemort laughed, drunk on what he was sure was success.

The light grew brighter and at the apex of its brightness, a heavy pressure settled on the room. The hum dropped to barely be heard and the light faded to a background glow. Voldemort could faintly see the outline _something_ through the fog, but he could not distinguish it. He held his breath.

Harry was pressed was close to the wall as he could get. The pressure was bearing down on him and it felt difficult just keeping his head up. He spared a glance for the Death eaters, some were on their knees struggling to do even that, and some were still standing, albeit not as proudly as they once were. Their heads were still bowed, unwilling to disobey their Lord.

Harry didn't want to look at where the pentacle was, but he couldn't help himself. He looked. At first, he couldn't distinguish anything from the haze, but then, little by little, as the fog dispersed, he saw the outline of a figure.

When the figure came into view Harry's first emotion was confusion. It was not a monster that stood there, smoke curling around it's feet, but a mere man. Tall and most oddly coloured and attired, but a man none the less. But then he noticed the smaller things. The gaping, perfectly circular hole in his stomach, the ivory bone affixed to his jaw, the wide, slightly maniacal grin that showed teeth that were far too sharp.

His hands were in the pockets of his large, loose trousers. If Harry had known what they were named, he would have called them hakama. They hung low on his hips and exposed his feet, clad in the oddest footwear Harry had ever seen. His chest was bare, with only an open jacket to cover himself, leaving his torso exposed.

A sheathed sword hung from a black sash around his waist.

Harry saw his eyes flick to the Dark Lord and stay there. Harry felt grateful he wasn't under the blue gaze.

"Welcome Hollow, to the world of the living."

Harry heard Voldemort speak. Was that what this man was? A 'Hollow'?

There was a pause before the response came.

"Hollow? Who the fuck to you think you're talking to?"

Harry was taken aback. He would have thought the voice would be otherworldly and odd. But it was nothing of the sort, it was deep and coarse, matching the language.

Harry would have laughed at the reaction of the Dark Lord, if he was in any position to feel humour.

Harry saw Voldemort's face twist in anger and confusion.

"Silence!" he hissed, and Harry thought he might have lapsed into Parseltongue. "I have summoned you, you are bound to my will. You _will_ obey me!"

Whatever Harry was expecting the man in the man in the pentacle to do (and he was thinking more of apologising and promising to serve), it was not to laugh. Harry didn't like that laugh, it frightened him just as much as the Dark Lords, although they could not have been more different. While Voldemort's laugh was a high, cold cackle, conveying no amusement. This man, this _Hollow_'s laugh was deep, manic and full of mirth. Harry felt, a shiver going down his spine as the sound ricocheted off the walls, that it was rather mocking.

"Obey? You? Fuck that, I've never been one to follow rules and I'm sure as hell not gonna start now." he said, a sneer on his face.

As the Dark Lord grew ever more incensed, Harry noticed how the two men were standing. Voldemort was all false class and elegance, while the man in the pentacle was completely wild, untamed and so very _animal_, distaining to care how he was seen_. _Harry wasn't sure what made him more nervous.

"You dare!" a voice screeched from an unexpected direction. Harry's head snapped around, he knew what voice anywhere. Bellatrix Lestrange had stepped forward, wand in hand and her body tense with rage. "You dare the defy the Dark Lord you filthy _animal!_ I should-"

"Bella!" Voldemort snapped, his voice raised. The woman froze, bowed and retreated her steps stiff.

"So," the Dark lord said, his voice oddly soft, "You will not obey me? You should be begging to do my will. The runes, Rhykoh, Fzarze and Grephigor command absolute obedience and submission to my power. I must admit, I am at a loss to explain your... lack of compliance. No matter, if you will not obey, you will be made to."

The man did not laugh this time, rather, an odd expression overcame his face. It was calculating, but lost none of its energy.

"Submission? To _your_ kind of power? You're shitting me right? Just who do you think you've summoned?"

"You are a Hollow are you not? A departed soul, consumed by its own darkness and turned into a monstrous being."

Harry stared. Did that mean, this man was_ dead?_ He didn't _look_ dead.

The man grinned again.

"_Just_ a Hollow?"

It was the first time Harry had seem Voldemort look anything like uneasy. It would have been amusing had he not been feeling the same.

"By your human appearance, I would say you are at Arrancar level. Arrancar are easy to bend to my will." Voldemort said, arrogance in his voice.

The grin widened.

"What's the strongest Arrancar you've ever summoned?" the man asked, something predatory in his face and voice. He seemed to be leaning forwards, his nose almost at the edge of the chalk line. Harry was grateful he was held there by the runes.

"Thirty seven!" Voldemort said, his eyes narrowing and a smirk slithering across his pallid face.

The man laughed again, throwing back his head and flashing those all to sharp teeth again. Voldemort shook with rage.

"Crucio!"

The spell impacted and the man clamped his jaw shut and tensed his muscles but if anything, his smile grew.

"Tell me what your number is." he ordered, Harry detected a perverse joy at the others pain. Harry didn't know what was meant about 'number' but he got the impression that it had great importance. Rank maybe?

The blue haired man straightened and his mouth contorted into a wide mockery of a grin. His breathing was slightly heavy and his eyes were wide, he gave a low chuckle and eyes the Dark Lords furious countenance. He didn't speak.

"Your number!" Voldemort screamed, losing his temper, "What is your _number?_"

"You know," the man said conversationally, and Harry knew no one was that calm after being subjected to an unforgivable. "I'm getting pretty fucking sick of you and your voice."

"Crucio! Crucio! _Crucio!_" The Dark Lord roared, angry beyond anything Harry had ever seen him.

The violent red curses were easily evaded with quick twists of the body.

The grin stretched and exposed more sharp, white teeth.

Then he did something that made Voldemort freeze and Harry to almost forget to breathe.

He stepped out of the pentacle.

Hands back in his pockets, looking perfectly relaxed, he took slow measured steps towards the Dark Lord.

"Allow me to introduce myself." He said, leaning forward slightly. "I'm Espada six, Grimmjow Jaegerjaques." He finished. He looked as though he wanted to taste the air for the feelings suddenly permeating the room. His eyes were wild.

Voldemort went very still. Harry could see his concave chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Espada." He hissed, and his eyes were alight with greed. "This is certainly fortunate. I never expected to have an _Espada_ under my control. This is most... welcome."

Harry was not as lost as he had expected he would be. Hollws were ranked by number, human looking ones were called Arrancar and the most powerful of these were the Espada. And Voldemort now had control over one. Harry felt dread churn in his stomach and creep up his throat.

The Espada looked at the Dark Lord with a half lidded gaze, he licked his lips and took another step forward.

"You arrogant son of a bitch. You know what? I'm in the mood for some senseless slaughter."

Voldemort, choosing not to hear the blatant disrespect in favour of attempting to gain the Espada's favour, gave a psychotic grin.

"There is an entire country at your disposal, filled with filth that have no right to exist. You may have any you wish."

The blue haired man snorted softly.

"Oh no. You see, however fun it would be to hear their screams, I would much rather hear yours." He said with a macabre look on his handsome face. He took another step.

Voldemort was instantly on his guard, drawing his wand gracefully and pointing up unwaveringly at the man, standing unconcerned not six feet from him.

"How are you able to leave the pentacle?" he demanded, asking what Harry thought he should have long before now.

"You didn't use your own blood did you? Fucking retard, that blood wasn't compatible with your magic. The only person who I ain't allowed to kill is the one who donated the blood." He scoffed.

Voldemort and Harry both stilled.

Before they could speak or do anything, a shriek smashed the quiet.

Bellatrix Lestrange, positively foaming at the mouth stood with wild eyes, her wand clutched tightly in her hand.

"You fucking bastard _animal_! You _dare _to disrespect the Dark Lord! You dare-"

She was cut off harshly and her words trailed off into an unpleasant gurgle. She looked shocked and confused before she looked up into the grinning face of the Espada. Then she looked down. His hand was buried up the wrist in her chest. She hadn't even seen him move.

She tried to speak but her words came out as though she was underwater and blood splattered from her mouth and dripped down her chin.

Her eyes looked up and then to her Lord who stood, surprised but unmoving. She jerked as the hand was wrenched from her ribcage and crumpled to the floor with a ghastly sucking noise. She laid still, a pool of dark red forming around her.

The Espada casually studied his hand, dripping with fresh blood. The faint pat, pat, pat was amplified in the utter silence.

Turning his head slightly so that he looked at the Dark Lord out of the cornier of his eye, he gave that awful grin once again.

Slowly, deliberately, he brought the red slicked hand up to his mouth and licked it. He ran his tongue along his palm and seemed to savour the red liquid. He licked his lips, cleaning them of blood. The teeth bared in the ever present grin were slightly stained with red. His eyes, piercing and odd with their blue markings around them, never left the Dark Lords.

Harry was about to vomit. He was staring at the man with grim fascination fused with horror and disgust. He understood what Bellatrix (he tried not to look at the body) had meant when she had called him an animal, but she was wrong. Animals acted on instinct, they were blameless for their actions under it. But this was different. This was _meant_. The Espada, Grimmjow, enjoyed what he did and relished it. Harry couldn't understand. He was thankful for that, he felt that if he was to delve deeper, he would be sick.

Grimmjow made a contented noise in the back of his throat. "I haven't tasted blood that strong in years. Fuck, this may actually be worth my time!"

Voldemort was livid. With a roar, he brought his wand up and loosed a volley of spells too fast for Harry to see the number. They abruptly stopped when the wand was plucked from his hand from behind.

The Death Eaters, those who were still standing, had their wands out and pointed at the Espada, who had his mouth very close to Voldemorts ear.

"Now now, little Dark Lord. That wasn't very nice. Give me a little challenge her would you?"

Snarling, the Dark Lord did just that. Spinning on one foot, he Apparated from his previous location and reappeared just long enough to snatch back the wand, before reappearing several feet away.

Grimmjow looked vaguely impressed.

"Kill him. He is of no use to me." Voldemort hissed. As one, the Death Eater nodded.

A rainbow of curses filled the air of the stone room, bellowed spells and howls of agony and rage made Harrys ears ring.

Maniacal laughter bounced off the walls, creating the illusion of multiple foes.

Harry curled in on himself, unable to crawl towards the safety of the large table, now overturned, for fear of being hit with a stray spell. One such spell ricocheted off a wall with a whine and impacted not three inches from his ear. The stone was impaled with a large metal spike that dissolved into a liquid that ate through the stone like fire through snow.

Not knowing how much time had passed, but feeling like it was both seconds and years, Harry noticed something. Silence. Almost. There was the sound of gasping breath and wet coughing.

He didn't want to open his eyes but he felt more scared if he kept them closed.

The room was a bloodbath. Every inch was covered in gore. He felt something wet on his cheek and, horrified, scrubbed at it.

Waking from his scrubbing frenzy, he heard the wet cough once again.

He looked towards it's direction.

Voldemort was propped up on a wall, his one remaining hand scrabbling for the wand that lay somewhere away from him.

Grimmjow stood a few meters away, idly surveying the carnage. He was covered from head to toe in blood. A particularly defined splatter dripped down his check and stained the bone affixed to his face. It looked oddly fitting. He sighed.

"Not fun at all. Christ, can't you even give me a little fun here?" he sounded disappointed. He raised his eyebrows at the sound of the Dark Lord coughing up blood.

"I thought you were dead, you're much more resilient than the rest of these fucking weaklings."

Voldemort glared though narrowed, pain wracked red eyes.

"Go to hell." He managed to spit out.

Grimmjow laughed.

"Been there, done that. Believe me, you'll be seeing more of it where you're going."

He smirked and ran a tongue across his teeth. He reached down with such speed, Harry almost didn't see it, and ripped the Dark Lords throat open. A macabre mockery of a smile was present under the twisted snarl of a thin lipped mouth. He gargled, blood bubbling up and spraying outwards. Struggling to breathe, he writhed on the floor, the Espada watching in sadistic glee. Finally, he stopped moving.

The smile faded from Grimmjows face. What a bore.

Harry watched as he walked back to the pentacle. Odd red light collected on the tip of his finger and obliterated the stone floor on which the pentacle was inscribed, along with the book and ingredients scattered when the table fell.

He stretched out an arm and brought it scything down, opening a rip in the very air. He made to step through but paused.

"Hey kid," he said, sounding lazy. Harry just looked at him with wide, glazed eyes. "You lucky bastard." He said with a shake of his head. Flashing the boy a manic grin, he stepped though the rip and was gone.

Harry sat there, clutching his arm to his chest, even though it had stopped bleeding long ago, and stared blankly at the red stained wall opposite him. He didn't make a sound, nor did he move until the Order of the Phoenix burst into the room, intent of fighting for his rescue. All but three of the group emptied their stomachs at the sight and smell. The three who were more strongly constituted scoured the remains for their charge, fear crawling up their spines. They eventually found him, amid the gore and the corpses, glassy eyed and empty. They brought him back and gave him space, hoping to ask him about his ordeal later, when he had gotten over it.

Harry Potter never spoke of that night. He flinched at the sight of blood and woke up screaming from his sleep.

Even when he was awake, that wide, manic grin was present on every face.

* * *

_End_

_I'm evil. It's awesome. _

_The title should be obvious. It was originally called 'Invoke' but that sounded sucky._

_I've been working on this for a while, the ending sucks a bit, but it's alright. Please feedback, I'm wondering whether to do another Grimmjow one-shot. I'm not sure what on this time though. Maybe a Naruto crossover? Hmm..._


End file.
